All Things Good and Proper
by chi-of-ink
Summary: It's an old-fashioned tradition to ask a father's permission before proposing marriage, and Pitch Black just so happens to be an old-fashioned sort of guy. Unfortunately, the closest thing Jack has to a father is North...


Their meeting was arranged. Pitch had left a formal note, conjured and delivered by shadow, upon the cluttered desk within North's workshop. The fortress itself was not necessarily barred to him, due mostly to Jack's insistence of accompanied visits and assurances, but showing up uninvited was just not proper and for this - for _this_ - Pitch wanted to be unfailingly proper.

North had given his cheery reply in the form of a dream, of all things. It should not have been surprising, as Sandy was famous for his eagerness to help. Pitch, to his credit, absolutely did _not_ make any degrading remarks about the guardian's newfound role as a messenger boy, but simply made note of their agreed date and moved to prepare.

There was an odd, unfamiliar fluttering in his core, something akin to the twitching beat of moth wings. This was, he knew, not for the meeting but for the thought of Jack, whose face kept flashing up into his head in various different states. Surprise, laughter and dismay were common ideas, but more often than not it was a stunned, ashy blush and a ecstatic grin.

Pitch kept that pleased expression firmly (_hopefully_) in mind as he stepped out of the shadows within North's cozy study. The lights, he noticed, were dimmed just enough to allow the existence of a few tall shadows on the walls. It was a welcoming gesture.

"Pitch Black!" boomed the man behind the desk, and Pitch stepped into the light as North opened his arms to greet him. "You are right on time, as is always!"

"North." Pitch acknowledged with a nod and close-mouthed smile. ("You look _hungry_ when you show all those teeth," Jack had said once with a playful, lusty look, but the Guardians only tended to stiffen and flinch when he grinned.) "You're looking...healthy, I see."

It was a weak attempt at chatter. Jack always made the small talk for him, breaking the metaphorical ice in extended company. It wasn't often that Pitch was alone with this particular Guardian, and even less so under civil circumstances. North chuckled at the awkward greeting and made an abortive move as if to put an arm around him. He settled instead for clapping a large hand heavily on Pitch's thin shoulder.

"Come, sit. Have gingerbread man! Very tasty...!"

"While I...appreciate the offer," he began, raising a finger to interrupt, "I must-"

But North was already off, clearing room on his great desk. There were several plates of cookies already there, some of which looked as if they had been picked at by miniature hands. Pitch cleared his throat quietly, feeling uncomfortably out of place in the warm brightness of Santa's workplace.

"Ah." North straightened at Pitch's stillness, a gumdrop-speckled cookie caught loosely between two fingers and halfway to his mouth. "There was problem to tell, yes? Out with it, then, I am ready."

"It's not a problem," Pitch corrected him, perhaps a little too hastily. "It's _far_ from a problem, I assure you - I'm here to ask your blessing."

The Guardian just blinked at him, bushy eyebrows raised. "Blessing? What for?"

"...as you may know, Jack has become a very important part of my life. And he has said himself that you are like a father to him."

North slowly, slowly brought the uneaten cookie back down to it's plate.

"I would intend to have..._ahem_ - to _ask_ for Jack's hand in marriage."

Even with the moment of understanding preluding it, North's expression was not quite what he anticipated. The Guardian ran a thick hand over the side of his face, fingers catching white hair. The eyes that were moments ago wide and suspicious have gone narrow, searching. "His _hand_?" he repeated.

Pitch was suddenly and acutely aware of their long and violent history.

"Jack and I-" he stopped for a moment, catching sight of himself in the polished surface of a golden contraption by the door which seemed to be some grand version of a nesting doll. The reflection blinking back at him had lost a great deal of it's grace already - overly stiff, the mouth tight at the corners, head drooping slightly. He looked like a scolded, hopeful puppy.

Pitch gave his head a little shake, determined to appear a gentleman again. "I give you my word I would do good by him." he stated instead, firmly.

North made a rumbling noise that was not quite agreement and not quite rejection, either. He was moving about the room, lighting lamps and brightening lights. Pitch knew immediately why - there no longer remained a single dark corner or shadow large enough to hide in, if he so desired.

"And this 'word'," North continued, "I think we have had it before, hm? In other things."

"I have changed." he insisted, before North could start drawing on examples. "Due largely in part to Jack. He is exactly what I needed to become whole again."

"But if there is 'lovers spat', let us say...then what? Boom, world domination! You see? Very risky business. Not good for poor boy's happiness." North pursed his lips and shook his head sadly, patiently.

"I would not - I would never abandon Jack for a silly _domestic_...!"

North raised his eyebrows and said nothing. Unbidden, the shameful memory of Jack curled up at the bottom of a crevice floated into his mind, shivering and hurt, with the pieces of a broken staff at his feet. _You want to be alone? Done!_ They had put that accident behind them, but the other Guardians were not so quick to forget.

Pitch was very, very aware of the way his posture was wilting. "It's...it's different now."

North gave a cheerful wave. "Oh? Go on!"

This was not the sort of thing he wanted to discuss with North. But it was, he knew, necessary to have things done right. "I promise you - Jack's safety is all I have in mind. I would continue to protect him. I would defend his honor-"

The Guardian made an amused snort at the word 'honor'. Maybe it was not the best thing to say, considering it had been only last summer that he had come across the two of them in the kitchens. Jack had insisted his boyfriend try a slice of sugar-sticky cake, then proceeded to sample a taste himself - straight from Pitch's mouth. Mischievousness was the boy's strong point, and Jack could climb him like a tree, all wandering hands and devious fingers under them hem of clothes. Pitch had not been sure at what point North had arrived, but they had both broke apart at the sound of a heavily tapping foot, and, well.

Well.

"It won't happen again." Pitch mumbled in quiet mortification, wringing his hands. _Only Jack_, he reflected sourly, _could bring the Lord of Nightmares to shame._

"He is _vulnerable_ in ways. Take time." North agreed sagely.

Pitch gave a start. "I would wait for - I _have_ waited until we are married to-"

"Ah-ah-ah, is enough, I understand!" North cut him short hastily, raising his palms for silence. There was a redness to his face as he changed the topic. "But Jack is - Jack is Guardian, he is _good_. What about this business of corruption? Are you sure it is over, Pitch Black?"

"Jack's goodness has become far more infectious than my own darkness." North gave him a quiet look, to which Pitch continued with a sudden desperateness - "I swear it. No one could take better care of him, no one could better suit him. I am devoted. I have the best intentions for your...your son. Please."

"Hm." said North, beginning to pace the room. One hand stayed threateningly close to the hilt of his saber. "Hm, hm, hm. Is very tricky. You are right - Jack, he is like son to me. To give his hand away...!"

Oh for gods sake, was that a tear in his eye now?

"-to a new life! A new start! It is a lot to trust, I am not sure it is all very wise..."

Pitch gritted his teeth. Begging once had been hard enough. He was almost positive North was closing in for a bit of revenge, now. He felt awkward, out of his element like this, but if that was the way it had to be...then, for _Jack_...

"I will strive to be the perfect husband. Please, North, your blessing. I..._beseech_ you."

North stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I must ask one thing, then. _Why_ do you want to marry him?"

Blue eyes fell on him, waiting. Pitch took this in. _Why?_

Living a solitary existence over centuries time had done little to prepare him for the utterly consuming, addicting, _thrilling_ experience that was Jack Frost. The gradual entanglement of the young winter spirit's presence in his life was as through and intimate as the grip of ivy (and sometimes, when Jack wove their fingers tightly together, Pitch followed that slow vine-like creep of heat through their open palms and thought of just that.) Over time, the impact of Jack's company had made itself clear. An amused laugh when Pitch brushed his lips to the other spirit's pale knuckles. The offering of gifts, then hands, then arms to link together. The realization that without Jack's smirking, devious smile, there was little to fall back on.

'Why', indeed. It was, he thought, by far the most ridiculous line of questioning yet.

But it was also the easiest to answer.

"Because I've grown to love him."

North flashed him a jolly, eager grin.

"Very good! And if you prove untrustworthy, you meet the pointy end of these." He patted the hilts of his swords fondly. "Agree?"

Pitch gave a stiff nod. "That is fair."

The next thing he knew, a heavy weight was thrown across his shoulders and he found himself, of all things, being _embraced_ by the chortling, joyful behemoth that was Nicholas St. North. "You have my best of luck with the little ice devil! We will be like a _family!_ At last! Celebrations! Drinks! Eggnog all around! Oh - you should do the proposing first, yes?"

"_Y-yes._" Pitch gasped, hating him for his size. North's enthusiasm was far better experienced from a distance. It was very possible that there was a broken rib or two involved in this warm welcome.

"You have ring?" He asked, eyes alight as he pulled away. North was an inventor at heart, and so Pitch had expected this particular request to come up. Reluctantly (because no one else had seen this part so far, and Jack was the only whose opinion he actually desired), he produced the tiny box for North to inspect.

The Guardian flipped it open eagerly. With practiced movements, he grasped for a magnifying glass and began to turn it this way and that.

"It's opal and onyx, set within the lead found at earth's core." Pitch pointed out with a swell of self-important pride.

"Is...not bad." North conceded maddeningly, wavering a hand a little, as if it were just the first semi-acceptable draft of many wild, wondrous creations. Pitch sniffed a little, holding his hand out for the gem back - if it were up to North, he knew, he'd be carrying a ring full of hidden compartments, flashing lights and tiny robotic toys. That just wasn't dignified, and it was a far shot from practical.

"He will like." North said at last, grinning as he fit the box back into Pitch's palm.

"Yes." Pitch agreed, allowing a thankful smile for the other man, but what he really thought was _'Yes, I hope.'_

* * *

Pitch had been wrong to guess Jack's reaction - it was not at all what he expected. They were fitted against each other snugly, sitting on a snowdrift, with Jack sliding gradually into a sleep state. His head, which started out resting coolly on a dark shoulder, had fallen to his chest and was now almost entirely in Pitch's lap. By now, the chill was beginning to seep into his legs.

Pitch ran gray fingers fondly through the shock of white hair before plucking Jack up by the waist and setting him straight again.

"_lemme'lone._" Jack mumbled. "Comfy..."

"Jack."

"_Really_ comfy." Jack blinked up at him owlishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Or I _was._"

"Can you stand?"

"Huh? Why?"

"It is proper. Just do as I say, please." Pitch nudged him to his feet, ignoring the confused look.

Their height difference was always an obstacle. Even so, with Pitch kneeling down, Jack barely had to tip his head to look at him. He pressed pale fingers to his eyes for a moment, wincing, and then slowly adopted the winded, wide-eyed look of a child in mid-fight. A rare pang of sickness swept through Pitch - Jack looked as if someone had just slapped him across the face.

"...you want me to marry you." he said in a very far-away voice. Then, before Pitch could even begin to close the little box again, Jack was suddenly _everywhere._ Pacing, jumping, spinning, grasping him by the arms. The wind tossed him about like a blur until Pitch had to forcibly hold him still to understand what he was saying.

"That means forever, right? Marriage means forever? You're saying you want to be with me _forever?_"

"Yes-" Pitch barely fit one syllable through.

"-then _yes!_ Yes! Are you kidding me? _Yes!_"

It was a rush of victory, a feeling of completion greater than any previous warfare could provide. Pitch grinned and reached, tenderly, to frame his fiancé's face in his hands, to gently trace the line of his jaw, his smiling lips, his eyes. But Jack - zealous, wild, _wonderful_ Jack - only tackled him into the snow in a tangle of limbs and eager kisses until everything was cold and bright and warm and perfect.


End file.
